A Study in Kindness
by Miss flowers in her hair
Summary: John and Sherlock don't understand one another very well...Maybe talking about it would help? I may add a second part if this is well received. Or if i just feel like it. johnlockfluff


"-get into the bloody car. I don't want to hear any of your excuses. Let's just go home."

John slams his door, huffing and puffing and gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles are turning white. Even an idiot could see that John wants to strangle him.

Sherlock pouts, sitting down in the passenger seat, staring angrily out the window.

It is John's sister's fault for cheating on her new girlfriend, not his. He was just being kind enough to point it out. The girlfriend would have found out eventually and then it would've been over anyway. Why should the girl have to waste time, effort, and money on something that isn't a good investment in the first place? He was trying to be kind. That's the point of kindness, isn't it? To help people?

That's what John did every day.

And at any rate he is trying. He didn't want to meet John's, frankly, useless sister or her bubble headed former lover. Pointless. They just ended up hating him anyway. He didn't want to go to a stupid New Year's Eve party. Boring. Who cares about watching inebriated idiots dry humping each other to music?

And he had so much work to do.

All he can think about is the effect, if any, bread has on a stab wound. And no one wants to hear about that. Probably not even John.

John can see him over there, sulking, tracing out mathematic formulas on the car window.

Sherlock isn't a people person. He knows that. He did. But John didn't like being alone with Harry when she was going through one of her rough patches. Does that make him selfish? Yes.

But Harry is a mess right now and he couldn't see her alone like that. It's not like it's easy to watch his little sister drown herself in alcohol and women. And Sherlock poked him in the open wound.

And when was the last time Sherlock thought about him? He could afford to be a little selfish.

Silence is not what they call golden in these situations so John flips on the radio.

John and his popular music. Sherlock tries hard not to role his eyes at the romanticized garbage. He should complain. He should change the station from this whiney superficial nonsense. But John starts to hum along and Sherlock can't help smirking a little.

"You're not inebriated, are you John? Should I be driving?"

"No Sherlock," he snaps 'You know I didn't have a sip.

Grumpy. He's teasing. Now he couldn't even tease. That's fine. Sherlock could be in a 'mood' too then. And he could be so much worse than John could. He could push back twice as hard.

"You don't believe in that nonsense do you John?"

"What nonsense is that?"

He hears the irritation in John's voice and-"True love. Soul mates. Spending your life with just one person your entire life. Love is biological. It's science. Nothing lasts forever."-and it hurt. A little.

"Oh that's funny, coming from someone who's never been in love." Soul mates. John couldn't' say he completely disbelieved in that. There is something about running around with your best friend at 2 A.M. and anticipating there every move that rang like soul mates.

"You don't know everything about me John."

"Oh yeah? You've been in love. You, Sherlock-married-to-your-work Holmes. I've never seen you look twice at another human being."

He has his knees bunched up around his chin, still staring out the window, still writing his formulas. It's…cute.

Pathetic.

But cute.

Platonically cute, like a small child. Or a cat.

"Just because you think you know me doesn't mean you do. Forget I said anything."

"Alright, ok, it's fine." And it is fine. But who was it? Who made him stop wanting companionship? Who broke Sherlock Holmes? "I'm just concerned is all." A nice normal level of concern. Not anything to do with wanting to find the person who hurt his best friend so badly and beat them to a bloody pulp.

Sherlock turns to him then, slamming his fists into the seat, frustrated. "If you're so concerned- Look it's not what you think. And I don't think you want me explaining to you tonight. Aren't you annoyed with me for ruining your evening?"

"I'm not angry with you anymore."

"Great."

John sighs. Maybe Sherlock's right. Maybe he'd bring it up again when they were both a little less riled up. Maybe on a better evening he will bring it up again.

"Ok. I'll drop it." Because that's what friends do. Even if they don't want to. They respect your wishes. Begrudgingly.

And for a good fifteen minutes John let it go. The radio is back to playing meaningless songs that don't make Sherlock feel anything and then-

Then the song starts to sound familiar. No he's never heard the lyrics before and the melody is alright, nothing above what he could create but something resonates within him.

"And up until now I have sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness. Because none of it was ever worth the risk."

It is a sharp pain in his breast bone, just below his heart. He's felt it before. When John goes out and doesn't come home. It's isolation and emptiness and something that he refuses to define.

And he's suddenly desperate to talk to John. To fill the cab with pleasant talk and to never hear this song ever again.

"Are you familiar with this band?" No. That's the exact opposite of what he wanted to say. Why is he always doing things like this around John? Why is he unable to keep his tongue in check?

"Paramore? They're all right. You like them? They have more uplifting songs I think. Not really my favorite."

"You like that other woman? The one before. The one you were singing with."

"Yeah. Pink. She's good. I'm a little confused. Why are we on this topic? You hate pop music."

"This isn't terrible."

"Hey, can I ask you a question? It doesn't have anything to do with your love life, I swear."

"You've already asked one. What's another going to hurt?"

"What did you mean earlier, when you said you were trying to help Lacy out?"

"Who?"

"Harry's girlfriend. Or, former girlfriend."

The thanks to you is implied. Sherlock ignored it. "Isn't it better to stop things before they start? I wanted to help that girl before she got herself in too far. Isn't that what kindness is?"

"What, before she decided she was in love with Harry?"

"Yes, that's it." Sherlock sighed snapping his eyes shut trying to block out his brothers words.

"Who was it?" John barked.

"What?" Sherlock looked back at John. He was gripping the steering wheel tight again and gritting his teeth. What has he said to warrant such a reaction?

"Who made you think like this? Was it Mycroft? An old girlfriend or boyfriend? If it was Mycroft I'll strangle him with his own umbrella." No one was going to hurt Sherlock like this and get away with it. No one.

Sherlock felt his heart start to thud in his chest. This is to close for comfort. "I told you to drop it."

"You're stuck in this car with me, you may as well spit it out."

"You're in too deep. You'll want to start backing away now or start looking for a new flat mate." Sherlock's voice is a low rumble.

"Listen you, since we've lived together I've eaten a lot of things I wish I hadn't, done a lot of dangerous things; I could have chosen not to do been in plenty of mental situations and every one of those events have involved you. So if you think I'm leaving my own flat because you're to cut off from your own emotions then you've got it all wrong!" John is in a rage swerving along the road going much faster than the law would see fit

"I'm not cut off from anything! And you are driving too fast!"

"Don't! Don't try and change the subject!"

"Fine! I'm sick of it anyway. I would like nothing better than to go back to the life I was living before you! Don't you get it? It's right in front of your nose every day and you still don't see it! I'm in love with you! I LOVE YOU!"

John eyes snap away from the road and up at Sherlock.

"And I'm so sick of feeling this way."

The car swerves and slides in to a ditch as John hit the breaks hard, trying to regain some control over the vehicle before it hit the wooden fence to no avail. The airbags came up punching them in the face causing gunpowder to splatter all over their faces.

John closes his eyes mentally checking himself over. No broken bones. No punctured anything. Whiplash. He was going to feel that in the morning. He unbuckles his seat belt and reached over to unbuckle Sherlock's.

His eyes are shut and he is shaking as if he was in shock. Not an uncommon occurrence in these situations. He jumped a little when he heard the seatbelt click.

"You okay?" he asked softly, reaching for Sherlock's hand, making him jump again.

"Yes." He whispered. Eyes still shut.

"Good, that was a big scare. Let's move you to the back seat where you can lie back properly, alright?"

Sherlock doesn't move so John gets up and goes around to his side of the car and opens it for him. Grabbing for his hand again and leading him into the back seat.

"Lay down now. It's alright." Sherlock lay back on his elbows watching John go to close the door.

"Wait!"

"I'm sorry, I should have told you, stupid me," He tries to make his voice as soft and calm as possible. He's never seen Sherlock this traumatized and he wants to make everything as smooth as he can. "I'm going to sit with you back here. I just want to be on the other side of the car okay?"

Sherlock nods and John softly shuts the door. It is a cold night and he's glad that the two of them have winter coats on because it was just going to get colder and he didn't think they were going anywhere until morning. Then he could call a tow truck. And someone to come get them, but for now he needs to worry about Sherlock.

Sherlock is still lying propped up on his elbows, waiting, looking at John with these giant moon eyes as he sits down. "Lie down. All the way, I want you to be comfortable."

"But-" What's going on? John wants him to lie in his lap? Maybe he didn't hear what he'd said before.

"It's okay." John gently put a hand on his chest and pushes him down until he's comfortable lying in John's lap.

"Are you going to leave?"

"Why would I leave? Stop making a fuss and try and sleep for me."

"You're not going to find another flat mate?"

"Hush, Sherlock. Sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

His hands where in Sherlock's curls, softly, running through them. The simple act slowly broke the tension in his chest, he felt his heart slow and his hands stop shaking.

As he drifts off to sleep he feels John run a hand across his cheek and whisper goodnight. And Sherlock sleeps.


End file.
